Sol Strike (Battlegroup Z Book 3) by Daniel Gibbs (red novels .txt) 📗

straight line at maximum speed, rapidly closing the distance. Two missiles flew away from the Shrike, headed directly for Justin’s Ghost, while the enemy fighter pivoted away at a forty-five-degree heading.

The missile-lock-on tone buzzed in Justin’s cockpit as he pressed the launch button for a Vulture active LIDAR-tracked warhead. It dropped out of the weapons bay underneath his craft and zipped toward the enemy. Simultaneously, he dropped several chaff canisters and violently turned his fighter while engaging the afterburner and roaring away from the incoming fire.

None of the warheads loosed by either of them connected. The opening round was a draw.

“We’re not going to decide this contest with long-range missile launches, Spencer. Show me what you’ve got in a dogfight,” Whatley dared him.

“I thought you’d never ask, sir.” He rotated his craft, lining up the CAG’s fighter in his sights. For a moment, he chased his quarry, then Whatley quickly executed a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn and headed straight at him.

“You’re too predictable.”

Exchanging simulated energy-weapons fire, they rocketed past each other with few hits.

Justin cued his commlink. “How so, sir?”

“I’ve watched your nose-camera footage. You use the same tactics repeatedly, using the technological advantages of the Sabre to your benefit. That works against junior pilots and especially on a foe with little imagination.”

Waiting for an opening, Justin watched as Whatley looped around. He bristled at the critique. “It’s worked so far, sir.” At the last second, he pulled hard to the right with the flight stick, avoiding a direct firing pass, and instead passed the simulated League fighter, intending to close in on its six o’clock.

“Better, Captain. Now, watch and learn.” Whatley accelerated and gained some distance from Justin as his Ghost struggled to keep up. He flipped around and decoupled the Shrike from its inertial dampers, causing the fighter to continue forward while it gimbaled around. Dozens of red plasma bolts shot out of its nose-mounted cannon barrels.

Justin juked out of the way but not before losing almost all of his craft’s shield strength. Think. You’re playing his game. He decided on a risky tactic, looped his fighter around, then sent two heat-seeking missiles straight at Whatley, who rushed forward with full afterburners on. Barely avoiding another barrage, Justin pulled away again and disabled his inertial dampers. He grinned with satisfaction and fired another two heat seekers toward the Shrike.

Bracketed between four missiles, Whatley sent a wave of high-energy flares and killed his afterburner along with all forward momentum.

I’ve got him now. Justin turned toward the nearly stationary enemy and raced onward. The moment he entered neutron-cannon range, he pressed the firing trigger and held it. To his complete surprise, Whatley’s fighter turned and closed the gap between them, on a direct intercept course.

One thousand meters… eight hundred meters… onward the simulated League craft rushed, firing plasma balls, with two heat-seeking missiles that hadn’t gone for the flares tailing it. Whatley made small adjustments in his flight path, throwing off Justin’s attempts for a kill shot with his neutron cannons.

“What the hell are you doing, sir?” Justin blurted out on the commlink as he tried in vain to finish off the wounded Shrike. Is he going to ram me? The idea of it was ludicrous, but as Whatley closed to fifty meters, he had to take the concept seriously and tried to twist the flight stick away from the onrushing enemy craft.

It didn’t work. Whatley’s simulated League fighter hit Justin’s Ghost in the wing and disintegrated in a fireball. Hull integrity dropped like a stone and hovered at two percent. The master alarm sounded in his cockpit, and Justin slammed his hands onto the controls in frustration. He shut the pod down and climbed out to find Whatley standing there with a smug expression.

“What the hell was that, sir?”

“Unconventional tactics, Spencer.”

“A suicide run?”

“Do you seriously think we’re the only ones committed to our cause, Captain? Let me disabuse you of that right now. Some portion of the men and women we’re fighting are doing it because you have to conform in a communist system, and there’s probably a draft. But many love their country just as much as we love ours. They’ll fight and die for it, the same as us.”

Justin hadn’t even considered the concept. As far as he was concerned, the League’s government was a faceless evil, and he didn’t see how anyone—especially another human—could support trying to impose their will on others. “I, uh, I guess I see your point, sir.”

“Never crossed your mind, did it?”

“No, sir,” Justin admitted, somewhat ashamed of himself.

“This is what I mean by you’ve got a lot to learn, son. A committed enemy will sacrifice himself like I just did. Yeah, if that were real life, I’d be dead, but so would you. Don’t forget it.”

A bit of cockiness welled up in Justin. “Actually, sir, I had two percent hull left. I won the duel.”

Whatley’s eyes narrowed, and he stared Justin down. “If I hear a peep around the ship about it, I will PT you until your feet bleed. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, sir.” Justin gulped. Okay, I’m not pressing my luck. Glibness aside, he felt the imprint of a lesson learned: never underestimate an opponent.

“Don’t you have paperwork to do?”

“Finished it early this morning, sir.” Justin offered a smile. “Worst part of the job.”

“Well, you’ll have more tomorrow.” Whatley pointed at the simulator pod. “I’m going to make some tweaks to the AI for the League, and I want you to keep running your people through around the clock. We’ve only got a few more weeks to prepare.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Carry on, Captain.” Whatley turned on his heel and walked out.

Justin stood quietly for some time, pondering his commanding officer’s words. If he had to eject during the mission, landing in the hangar bay of an enemy heavy cruiser and stealing a fighter wouldn’t be an option. I’d be a POW or worse. That led him to think of never seeing his wife or daughter again, which brought fiery steel to the surface.